Sally Kindberg in Cornwall

After a damp few days eventually the sun came out and I walked through Penzance to Marazion, using the coast path along the side of Mounts Bay, once the site of an ancient forest. I called inland at Gulval church en route, lured by the sound of church bells, and was welcomed by its small and friendly congregation.

Gulval lies on St Michael’s Way, an ancient pilgrimage route running from Lelant on the the north coast to St Michael’s Mount in the south, over Trencrom Hill, site of an Iron Age hill fort, which I’ve walked in the past.

I’d used the wet weather to explore by bus, taking one to St Ives, visiting the Tate, and my old haunt behind nearby Porthmeor beach, where self-taught artist Alfred Wallis lived in a tiny cottage, using marine paint on bits of cardboard or any other surface (including a pair of bellows and a tin tray), whilst mourning the loss of his older wife.

Alfred was admired by much more financially successful painters of the time (for example Ben Nicholson), who nevertheless allowed him to die in poverty. Alfred was apparently a very deaf and grumpy character.  I sympathised as I am partially deaf.  And occasionally grumpy.  I wondered what he would have thought of his paintings being reproduced on tea towels and fridge magnets by the Tate.

I took a photo of his ‘Blue Ships’ tea towel on Alfred’s old windowsill, then asked a stranger to hold it up so I could photograph it.  We got into conversation. ‘Of course you have to be a bit mad to be an artist,’ said the young stranger.